After the Dawn
by missdarko
Summary: A look at the lives of Harry and his friends post DH, from healing after the battle to the start of their new lives. CANON. R/Hr, H/G, N/L, some JP/LE flashbacks.
1. Press Conference

**Disclaimer: All credit goes to JK Rowling and her genius.**

Harry wanted to cry, he really did. Barely a week had passed since the battle for Hogwart and he was already swarmed with a whole array of post-war complications - the errant ways Death Eaters for one, the rampant chaos of rebuilding the castle, the funerals and the constant media attention that seemed to follow his every move. Not a moment of peace. Indeed, he already was struggling with a whole new set of adversities and unforeseen challenges.

Like struggling to fit himself into the new, frilly set of dress robes Mrs Weasley had bought him for his first -he didn't even want to think it- speech to the press. It had taken days of coercion from Mr Weasley, Percy, Hermione and finally Kingsley himself, but he had finally agreed to address the media.

"The wizarding world wants to hear from you, Harry" the interim Minister had pointed out. "People are dying to hear what the Boy Who Lived has to say about his incredible triumph. We're not out of the woods yet, Harry. Voldemort may have been stopped but there is a ways to go. Hearing from you would give many some peace of mind. People want to know what you're doing."

Well, currently, the Boy Who Lived was stuck in the neck hole of his slightly-too-small robes, possibly about to strangle himself in the attempt to pull them on. Next to him, Ron was howling with laughter.

New and unforeseen challenges indeed.

"Harry, I don't s'pose you'd let me take a picture? Bill told me that the Daily

Prophet is paying good money for pictures of your day to day life. Y'know the public needs to meet the real Harry Potter."

Unable to reply from within the mess of lace and black silk, Harry stuck an arm out from the hem and made a one handed gesture that made caused Ron to laugh even harder.

With great effort, he managed to pull his head through the collar and straightened up slowly, glasses askew on his face. He straightened them and looked into the nearby mirror, immediately wishing he hadn't seen himself.

The dress robes, which according to Mr Weasley were a very honorable traditional garb worn by war heroes, were even worse than he imagined. Somehow managing to both too long on as well as too tight around the neck, Harry looked like he was swimming in lace. They were black and voluminous, completely drowning out his thin frame.

"They're like those quaint green uniforms worn by, uh, Muggle armies," Mr Weasley had told him. "After they kill loads of one another with those guns? And they congratulate each other afterward, don't they? They give speeches and medals to each other?"

Harry, who had certainly never thought of himself as anything like a "war hero", had been too overwhelmed to speak.

Of course, there was the matter of figuring out exactly what to say to the public. He had a horrible image of himself waddling up to the crowd in his robes and immediately being stunned by the flashing lights, still having no idea what to tell the reporters.

"Harry, there you are!" Hermione walked briskly into the room, carrying a small stack of white paper. "You're going on in less than an hour! Why aren't you dressed yet?"

"I'm trying-" he began but was cut off immediately by Ron.

"Hermione, do you need any help with anything?"

Harry sighed loudly. Ever since their kiss last week, Ron had been displaying a strange combination of embarrassing attentiveness and bravado. Apparently unable to decide how to speak to her, he took to following her around the Burrow and pestering her without actually bringing up the topic of their relationship. Unfortunately, in the chaos of the aftermath, she had yet to address the topic and this seemed to make Ron nearly hysterical with anticipation.

Charlie, who seemed to think that Ron had imagined the whole thing "under the pressure of war" took to relentlessly teasing him about her total calm in the face of near panic.

"Hey, mate, maybe in the confusion of the battle she thought you were Krum," he had suggested as they stood in the garden yesterday, trying to degnome the flowers.

"I dunno, maybe he just dazzled her with hitherto unsuspected skills and she's overwhelmed," Bill added.

"You mean she blocked out the horrible memory, poor girl," Ginny chimed in.

Harry had snorted with laughter but Ron had simply stood silently, his face flaming red until it nearly matched the color of his hair.

But now, it was days later and it had started driving Harry mad.

"Uh, no thanks Ron. I've gone ahead and prepared some cards for you, Harry. Just read them in order and you should be fine."

"Thanks a million, Hermione," he sighed in relief. "I really didn't know what I was going to say."

"You'll be fine," she repeated with a small smile "I've made sure that Rita Skeeter is banned from the event. Only two hundred reporters."

"Hang on, _two hundred_? Hermione, I thought this was going to be small!"

But before she could reply, the door burst open once again and Mrs Weasley strode in, looking slightly harassed.

"Kingsley's arrived, dear. You should come downstairs to meet him before the conference to talk things over."

"Er, why? Why is he here?" Harry asked, growing even more alarmed and hoping not to sound too rude. "I thought I was just going to give a speech alone?"

"Well, last minute, the Ministry decided that it would be a good show of solidarity if he spoke as well."

Harry's stomach sank.

"But Mrs. Weasley, I didn't know about this…"

"I know, dear," she sighed, absentmindedly adjusting the collar on Harry's robes. "But he just popped in now and I suppose there's no reason not to. I don't think it'll change matters much, he'll just put in a few words here and there. You should come downstairs soon. I just have to ask Arthur when the press is arriving, should be any minute now."

With that, she fluttered out of the room, leaving a perplexed silence in her wake.

"Blimey, Harry" Ron muttered. "Looks like this is getting pretty big."

Through the opened window, he could hear the rumble of voices rise as reporters started to arrive. Harry took a deep breath, stashing the note cards in the pockets of his robe.

He knew what was coming. From here on, there would be precious little time to rest. He had completed one arduous journey only to land on the doorstep of another- one that would, hopefully, last a lifetime.

Here it was at last- Harry Potter, finally free. No more Dark Lords looming over his head, no more prophecies or Horcruxes. No more counting the last days. From now on, Harry knew he not only had to face the world but also find a way to live in it.

The war was over. Now he had to start to heal. Rebuild.


	2. the Woes of Ron Weasley

It was morning after the press meet and Ron Weasley was being rudely roused from sleep by a bushy-haired woman shaking his shoulder. No one in the house had gone to bed until the early hours of the morning, mostly due to the fact that Molly had insisted that the entire house stay up to help clean the yard – the press meet had ended in quite a mess in the small front yard. It was littered with broken quills and bits of parchment, as well as empty Butterbeer bottles from the two hundred odd reports that had shown up then refused to leave until Harry had answered a long list of questions. The conference finally ended when Ministry officials finally showed up to escort them out, more than three hours later.

Ron blinked his eyes blearily to realize it was Hermione, who was brandishing a large bottle of doxy spray.

"Wake up, Ronald!"

"What are you doing this early?" Ron asked, sitting up with a groan. He hoped that Hermione wouldn't comment on his bright orange Chudley Cannon pajamas. In addition to clashing magnificently with his hair, they were nearly four years old and several inches too short in the ankle. This was nothing to say of the rest of the room, similarly themed and just as bright.

"It's nearly eleven, Ron, and your mother wants you to take care of the doxy in the living room curtains. Kingsley said he may be coming by later, so get to it!"

"Doesn't the Minister of Magic have bigger things to worry about than the state of our drapes? Like the escaped Death Eaters or maybe the condition of the carpeting in his office?"

"_Ron_."

"I'll get to it," he said hastily, standing and grabbing the towel hanging from his desk chair. But as he turned toward the door, he saw Hermione standing exactly where she was, with a strange expression on her face.

"Well," she said slowly. "There's something else I wanted to ask you. And now is as good as time as any, I suppose."

Something in her tone made Ron wonder if he should sit down. Or offer her a chair. Or run out of the room screaming.

"This is hard to say, but..."

Something in Ron's head snapped into place. There it was. What he had been dreading since their last night in the castle. And perhaps even for much longer than that. "Look, you don't have to say it, Hermione," Ron interrupted, suddenly sure of what she was going to say. "You think it was a mistake. And now you feel like you have to fix it."

She stared at him, looking slightly confused. "Yes, Ronald, that's it. I don't know if it was a mistake, it certainly necessary at the time. But now I have to make sure no further is damage."

"It's alright, Hermione." He sighed heavily, feeling his face grow hot. "Just forget it. Let's just pretend it never happened."

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Ronald, that's impossible. How on earth could I do that? I, I've been waiting for this! I just need your help to make sure the situation is completely resolved!"

"Hermione, if you didn't like it, then don't mention it!" Ron burst out. "We just won't do it again! Go on, owl McLaggen or something, he was probably much better at it!"

Silence followed. When Hermione spoke again, it was in a tone that suggested she was dealing with someone either very dangerous or very confused.

"Ronald...what exactly are you talking about?"

"The kiss!" He was yelling now and he didn't care who heard. "We kissed and then for days now you've been acting like nothing happened! Well go on then, if you regret it so much, go snog McLaggen or something, maybe he can –"

"Stop, Ron."

Something in her voice made him pause immediately and he looked at her. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line that reminded him rather unpleasantly of McGonagall. Even worse – her eyes seemed too bright, almost as if she was holding back tears.

"I was not talking about that. I was going to ask you to come to Australia with me to find my parents and bring them home."

Oh. A strong river of relief followed, mixed with instant regret and something akin to triumph. Not knowing how to respond to this in the face of so many emotions, Ron settled for staring stupidly at her instead. He was certain that his face was now the same color as his pajamas.

"Yes, that's right," she continued, now sounding quite angry. "But since you bring it up – I was hoping this trip would be a chance for us to be spend some time together."

Ron spluttered. "But, it's been days, and you, I mean, you haven't even said..."

"Well yes, Ronald, I didn't think it would be prudent to discuss that during the funerals and such. I wanted to wait until things settled a bit."

Her eyes narrowed as she added one last bit to well and truly make Ron feel like burrowing himself into the ground. "Besides, I thought we had established our feelings? I didn't realize they were in need of immediate and urgent discussion."

With that, she turned and walked out, leaving the doxy spray on his floor.

Several minutes later, a surprised and frightened Harry Potter was knocked to the floor by what appeared to be a large, angry ginger blob marching into the living room. "Mental, that one!" Ron huffed as Harry scrambled to pick up his glasses. "Honestly, how was I supposed to know how she felt?"

He pressed down angrily on the nozzle of the spray, accidentally elbowing Harry in the process. "I'm not a genius like her, am I? Honestly, if she just said, I mean, if she had ran it by me that she feels the same, maybe I wouldn't have –"

Ron paused in his ranting, seemingly just noticing his best friend sprawled on the floor, his glasses once again landing several feel away.

"What are you doing on the floor, Harry?"

/

Thinking back, Hermione knew that most of the worst decisions she had ever made were the direct result of befriending Harry Potter. Like the time she threw herself out of a window to escape a large snake and an evil overlord. To help Harry Potter. Or the time she broke into the Ministry of Magic with the knowledge that she was a wanted criminal. To help Harry Potter. Or even the time she agreed to help raise a baby giant in the Forbidden Forest. Well, that one was more for Hagrid. But still, it was a direct result of befriending Harry Potter.

If asked, the boy in question would say that they had no other choice, they needed to find Horcruxes, and well...Gryffindor is all about loyalty to friends, right?

Not that Hermione regretted doing any of these things. No sir, Hermione Jean Granger was not one for self-pity. She knew what she had done to help her friends and family and refused to let herself regret a moment of it.

But sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder what her life would be like if she had never encountered Harry Potter. Though few and far between, there were moments where Hermione imagined a life where she had been born with no magical ability at all.

Like now, for instance.

"C'mon Hermione, we should help her," Harry muttered, looking slightly guilty.

"That may not be possible," Hermione said flatly.

It was several hours after her encounter with Ron and Hermione had fallen asleep in the middle of the afternoon, still seething. It was normally unlike her to nap during the day, but between a busy morning and her fight with Ron, Hermione was exhausted. It was little more than an hour later that she was awaked by the sound of yelling and a shrill alarm ringing through the entire Burrow. Ginny's bed was empty. The room they were currently sharing filled with the incessant sound that told Hermione someone must have attempted to break past the protective wards placed around the house. Snatching up the wand at her bedside table, she clattered down the stairs, finding the Weasley family and Harry in a large crowd in the kitchen, where the back door led into the garden.

Though the yelling had stopped, Arthur and Molly Weasley looked worried and held their wands ready, pointed toward the door. Ginny looked angry, Harry sheepish and Ron simply amused. Percy was wringing his hands and looked as though he was just barely holding back tears.

"What's happening?" Hermione asked, her wand still held aloft.

"Rita Skeeter," Ron answered, momentarily forgetting that they were fighting.

The name brought a wave of anger that quelled her fear and alarm. "What now?" She snapped. "What did that woman do?"

Harry, slightly red in the cheeks, turned to her. "Well, it's my fault. She wanted to get into the garden, y'know, snap some pictures since she was banned from the press meet and all. But she didn't know there were charms up to stop intruders from coming in. I was out there near the pond and I heard the alarm that means someone tried to get past the ward and I just sort of panicked. And ah, well..."

He trailed off.

"What?"

"Well, er, I didn't know who it was, so I just kind of reacted and well..." He shrugged.

"Harry hexed her to all hell," Ginny said unabashedly. "He didn't kill her. Just sent all sorts of nasty things to her without realizing what was happening."

At this, she pointed her wand and the door creaked open, revealing what appeared to be an enormous red and black water beetle stretched across the back porch in the late afternoon sunlight. It was roughly the size of a horse and had some very familiar markings around its eyes, almost like a pair of cat-eyed glasses.

_"Is that Rita Skeeter?"_

"Yes, well, that would be what's happening, yes," Harry said, staring at his shoes. "And er, I don't think she can change back."

"How did you do this, Harry?"

"Well, I think she was trying to come in using her Animagus form and y'know, the wards were made to register anyone who tries to enter in disguise. So when the sound went off and I saw something moving near the pond, I thought it may be a Death Eater or something and I couldn't see who it was, I just...well...y'know, I used a couple of hexes and I guess she tried to go back to her human form and just got stuck halfway through." He paused, frowning. "I'm not exactly sure what I did, either. One moment she was a person, and then, this happened. You can fix it, right?"

Hermione stared at him. "Harry, if you sent an unknown amount of curses toward her and they all meshed, I wouldn't be sure where to begin! This is powerful Transfiguration isn't it? The Animagus should have full control over the transformation, but if you've somehow tampered with that, even if it's accidental, there's no way of knowing how to fix it!"

"But this is illegal!" Percy burst out, apparently unable to control himself any longer.

Hermione hesitated. "I'll look into it," she finally said.

"Good. Great. No harm done, then?" Arthur put on what he hoped was a hearty, cheerful grin. "We'll just, uh, keep her in the garden until then."

"Excellent!" Ginny adopted an equally cheerful tone. "After breakfast Quidditch, anyone?"

Hermione sighed quietly, wondering if it was too late to go back to bed. Or Australia with her parents. Maybe she should have just obliviated her own memory while she was at it...


	3. Snape's Tale, Sort of

By the end of the week, what everyone assured Harry would be "one small press meet" had turned into the "Harry Potter National Speech Tour". The Daily Prophet's readership had responded so enthusiastically to his earlier speech that Kinsgley and Percy had gently pushed Harry into attending several other media engagements, attributing it to the need of the British Wizarding community at large. Over the last few days, Harry had traveled through various parts of the country, talking to increasingly large crowds.

He had spoken twice at the Atrium in the Ministry of Magic, had met with an international council of Aurors, and had even (under high security) appeared briefly at Godric's Hollow to give a short talk at his parents memorial.

It had only been ten days since the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry knew that it would only get worse.

Today was Friday and it was finally time for the event that Harry had been both dreading and anticipating – his meeting with the Wizengamot to discuss Severus Snape. While he had every intention of clearing his late Professor's name, Harry faced the task with great trepidation, knowing how far-fetched he would sound.

He had never liked public speaking. Through the course of the week, he had stumbled through the speeches prepared for him by various Order members, reading along and pausing when he was told to do so. In a way, it didn't seem to matter much what he actually said – he used lots of phrases like "solidarity" and "strength in the face of unimaginable loss" and people would clap and cheer. Or burst into tears.

But this was all on him.

Harry wasn't in good mood by the time they arrived at the Ministry of Magic midmorning. They passed through the employees entrances in the Atrium, where people openly stared as he shuffled in. Witches and wizards nodded to him as he passed, a couple even grasping his hands and loudly praised him – "Cyril Diggory sir, such an honor." Harry offered smiles in return, not sure of what to say.

But an hour later, as Harry sat stiffly in the a cold courtroom in the bowels of the Ministry, he wished he was back upstairs. He had been once again forced to wear the "heroic" dress robes, which trailed on the floor behind him as he walked. The layout of the dimly lit room reminded him unpleasantly of his memories from Dumbledore's Pensieve, where he had witnessed the trials of several Death Eaters. He sat on a single chair on the court floor, facing the newly reassembled Wizangamot. Amelia Bones' voiced boomed across the floor from the raised benches above him. A stern looking woman clad in modest black robes, she stared at him over her wire-rimmed glasses.

Thus far, the trial was not going very well. Though he had mentioned Snape's loyalty previously, it had not gone over well – people seemed to think that Harry was suffering from post-war trauma or had simply gone off the deep end.

"Let's get this straight, Mr. Potter. Severus Snape killed Dumbledore to save the Wizarding world?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"The Death Eater Severus Snape killed _Albus Dumbledore_ to benefit the good and the innocent?"

"That's what I'm saying, yes."

"Severus Snape, the Dark Lord's closest confident, rid the world of the one wizard he ever feared because he was trying to _stop_ Voldemort?"

"That about sums it up."

"And why did Dumbledore never tell anyone of Snape's alleged heroism? Or leave instructions to clear his name in any known document?"

"I don't know, ma'am."

"And how did you get this proof again, Mr Potter?"

"Er, well, Snape gave me his memories, just before he passed on..."

"And you're sure these memories were never altered in any way?"

"...No, Madam Bones..."

"And you say that the Dark Lord, an accomplished Legimens, had no idea of Snape's double nature? And the latter was able to sabotage his plans for nearly three years without his suspicion?"

It was actually closer to sixteen years. Snape had been in Dumbledore's allegiance long before Voldemort's resurrection.

Harry smiled desperately at her, hoping to look sincere and good-natured. He heard Griselda Marchbanks mutter to the others, distinctly hearing words like "Confunded" and "traumatized".

"Is there anything else you'd like to tell us, Mr. Potter?"

Harry felt hysteria bubble in his throat. He wondered what Madame Bones would say if she knew that Rita Skeeter was currently living in the Weasleys' chicken coop, stuck as a giant water beetle.

"No, Ma'am."

"One final question – you say that Severus Snape killed Dumbledore on behalf of Draco Malfoy, who had been ordered to do so by the Dark Lord. Why would such a mission be entrusted to a sixteen year old boy? Did Draco have a personal vendetta against Dumbledore or any of his allies?"

Harry blinked at her.

"I dunno, ma'am. I think it's because Mad-Eye Moody turned him into a bouncing ferret once in the Great Hall."

Everyone stared.

**A/N: Dun dun dun! Does everyone like where this is going? More R/Hr in the next chapter! :) Please keep in mind this is meant to be silly! Check out my new (much more serious) fic, based on Draco forming an alliance with the Trio and Snape during DH! **


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